


Blue Crush

by olddarkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Dates, First Meetings, M/M, Slow Burn, Surfing, Trauma, and they help each other learn how to live, at least as slow as three chapters allows, fate and the ocean bring him and shiro together, in short surfer!keith has some issues with the ocean after a near death experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olddarkmachine/pseuds/olddarkmachine
Summary: Foam sputtered up, flaring up white and frothy as the curl of the wave returned to its subtle rolling motion, swallowing the man and his board. That very same rush of water bobbed him up toward the sky again as he kept his eyes trained on the spot where the other surfer had disappeared, his mind racing to count the seconds that he stayed under.Keith has seen worse wipeouts.Has been in worse, but something about this one seems significant in a way that keeps him anchored in his spot as he waits for the other man to resurface.Time ticks painfully slow before he sees the pointed edge of a board break through the water, popping up in a spiking motion before settling flat on the water.Another long stretch of seconds pass, but the surfer never joins it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, welcome to the Blue Crush AU that none of y’all asked for, but since writing sport AUs that no one asked for is my shtick, HERE. WE. ARE. Idk if you guys remember this movie, but if not, this will fill that early 00s teen sports romance flick sized hole in your heart.

Water laps against Keith’s skin, soothing it with its coolness as it crests over his knees and against the polished surface of his board as he lets it rock him. This early in the morning, there’s nothing more than the quiet of a sunrise, and the gentle caress of the ocean as she rocks and sways, waking to the start of a brand new day.

It’s just the way he likes it, he thinks as he pulls a briny breath between his teeth, letting the salty air fill his lungs until he’s certain his chest will explode with it.

With the gentle water beneath him, and the painted sky above, Keith thinks he’s exactly where he needs to be.

Exactly where he wants to be.

The ocean has always been his greatest love, with the heavens above a close second. Both equal in their unending stretch of wander, Keith knew that if he had it his way, he’d swim amongst the stars, riding the waves of nebulas and supernovas and never come back. There was just something so freeing about the feeling of it all, riding rolling waves with the sky at his back.

It was the best feeling in the world.

More importantly, it was a feeling Keith was desperately trying to get back to.

Breathing in deep again and counting back from ten like his mom had taught him in one of her rare moments of maternal instinct, he watches the way the ocean rolls bigger, turning her gentle peaks into something grander.

Something dangerous.

Something that could, and would, plunge him into the its darkest depths and hold him there until there was nothing left to return.

Fingering the harsh line of raised skin along his cheek, Keith shudders.

Once upon a time, he had made the ocean his home. Had done it in such a way that his name was almost synonymous with his favorite beach. The locals would whisper about him, with his bright eyes, quick wit, and quicker fists and how he’d tamed the water to bend at his will.

Once upon a time, Keith had been on the fast track to be the next big surfer. He had been something of a legend, revered for his tenacity, and his fearlessness as he took on bigger and bigger waves until he was flying amongst the stars with them.

Then he discovered the truth of the ocean’s power and how quickly her favor could turn as she’d pulled him from his board and slammed him face first into a reef.

When he’d come to, the doctor’s had told him his heart had stopped beating for almost three minutes.

Since, the water taunted him, watching him from where she lapped against the sand and inviting him in for another go.

 _Try and tame me, foolish boy_ , she seemed to say.

It had taken months for him to even get this far, just sitting on his board like a child and letting the ocean sway him.

On a base level, Keith knows that he’s scared. His friends know it. His doctors know it. The water knows it.

He is fucking terrified.

But he misses it too. Misses it in such a way that it settles bone deep and steals his sleep with nightmares of angry waves and crushing darkness until he finds himself back at the beach, just to watch the way the sun turns the turquoise water to burning gold as it peaks over the horizon.

All Keith wants, is to find that freedom that he’s lost again.

Sighing loudly, he trails his fingers over the water, pushing it between his fingers until it runs like cool ribbon through their spaces.

He’s getting there, he thinks, as a larger waves rolls beneath his board and lifts him closer to the sky. But he still isn’t ready.

Not yet.

Swallowing against his rapidly rising pulse, pushed higher and higher by the growing tide, Keith tries to settle his nerves and ease the tension in his shoulders as he lets the waves rock him carefully.

Up and down, they take him, rolling his board in a seesaw motion that should be calming.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Timing his breaths with the motions, Keith lets his gaze wander over the shining ocean, taking stock of the way she moves. They’re thoughtful almost, as if she’s considering her next move.

If this were a different time, maybe he would have egged her on, begging her to prove her strength to him so that he could prove his.

Shaking the thought from his head, Keith eyes a young seagull bobbing along the waves just feet from him in the very same way he is, and somehow that feels very symbolic. Smiling a bit as the bird preens, shaking some water off its feathers, Keith opens his mouth to offer it encouragement.

 _If I can do it, so can you_ , he wants to say.

A sudden whooping sound turned bright with victory steals his chance as it smashes the quiet around him in sharp shards and sends the seagull flying away.

Searching for the culprit, he sees a surfer in the distance, his tanned skin catching the light in a way that’s all too bright as he raises his hands above his head in triumph. He looks golden against the bright, cool blue of the wave, almost like a man from a Greek myth, touched by the favor of the gods.

The surfer is almost blinding as he holds the victorious pose, his board slicing through the water and carrying him across the wave’s curl and into its tube.

Before he disappears behind the wall of frothing blue, Keith can’t help but notice the bright shine of silver that runs where his right arm should be.

Holding his breath, Keith waits for him to emerge on the other side, the flashing of metal filling him with a small relief.

It’s a fleeting feeling, suspended almost, before the wave caves in on itself and catches the tail of the surfer’s board, pushing him forward in a somersault that would be almost comical if the crash of his body against the water didn’t make Keith’s heart stall in his chest.

Foam sputtered up, flaring up white and frothy as the curl of the wave returned to its subtle rolling motion, swallowing the man and his board. That very same rush of water bobbed him up toward the sky again as he kept his eyes trained on the spot where the other surfer had disappeared, his mind racing to count the seconds that he stayed under.

Keith has seen worse wipeouts.

Has been in worse, but something about this one seems significant in a way that keeps him anchored in his spot as he waits for the other man to resurface.

Time ticks painfully slow before he sees the pointed edge of a board break through the water, popping up in a spiking motion before settling flat on the water.

Another long stretch of seconds pass, but the surfer never joins it.

Fear pumps through Keith, firing like a piston as he lays his chest against the smooth surface of his own board and pulls himself across the water toward the lonely deck as it continues to bob along. It’s motions were almost comforting in the quiet of the morning air as Keith reaches it.

Mind racing ahead of his fear, Keith barely has time to think of the darkness below him as he palms at the leg rope, finding it thankfully taut in a way that can only mean the surfer is at least still attached to it.

That much is a small victory in and of itself as he rolls off his board, body moving reflexively as he pulls a deep breath into his lungs before dunking himself into the frigid ocean. A shock bucks through him, almost pushing the air back out of his lungs as he follows the rope like a lifeline, quickly finding the knob of the surfer’s ankle attached to it.

Tugging at his leg, Keith blindly grabs at him until he has him pressed full body against his chest and then he starts to kick. Each move comes too easy as the other surfer doesn’t struggle against his pull at all, falling lax against him as his head sways with the roll of the water and each one of Keith’s jerky movements. Breaching the water’s surface, Keith blinks away the stinging saltwater as he reaches blindly for the downed surfer’s board.

With his palm slick and his body off balance from the unconscious man weighs heavy against his chest, it takes several tries before he finally has it properly in his grasp and pulls it towards them. Heaving against the surfer, he pushes him up onto the board, his heart leaping as he slips halfway off and back into the water before Keith cages his between his arms and chest.

Off in the distance, he’s barely aware of the people gathering along the coast, watching as he starts to kick and push them both across the waves.

“C’mon,” he grits out under his breath, continuously shifting his gaze between the shoreline and the surfer as he fights against the current and his own board that’s trailing behind them.

“C’mon,” Keith tries again, the word heavy as a prayer on his tongue, as he sees the man’s lips turning blue.

Time feels as if its fighting against him, moving quicker around him as he stalls in the water, the sands before them remaining stubbornly where they are, which is all too far away.

It shouldn’t take so long to get to the shore, he thinks as he bites his teeth into his lip.

Before, he could make it in a matter of seconds, using the ocean’s own force against her to make his way back to the sand. Of course, then he hadn’t ever cared enough to keep track of the seconds as they ticked by. Now, he feels each one drag between his fingertips like the very sand he was so ardently trying to reach.

Splashing greets them as they finally pull close enough for the other beachgoers to run out towards them, their hands brushing across skin and board unceremoniously as they try to help.

“What happened?” Someone asks as a hand pulls Keith up to his feet and away from the unmoving body.

“Who is he?” Another voice asks from the distance, its question almost lost amongst the cacophony around them as two men pull the surfer up onto the sand, paying no mind to the way his board plays as nothing more than added weight where it drags behind them.

“I don’t know,” a quiet voice replies, scratchy and breathless.

 _His voice_ , Keith realizes as he pushes away from the beachgoers around him.

“I don’t know,” he repeats, louder this time, as he quickly pulls the velcro from around his own ankle before discarding it carelessly. Crossing the sand quickly, Keith pushes against the crowd that has formed around the surfer before dropping to his knees at his side.

Without the distraction of the water, he sees the stretch of scar that runs across the bridge of his nose, turned a sickly white that is fading with the rest of his skin. It matched with the others that litter his chest and torso in a way that can only mean that this man is a survivor.

“C’mon,” Keith repeats once more as he pushes sodden white bangs from the stranger’s eyes. “You can’t die here.”

He isn’t sure why he says it, or who he says it for, but he repeats it quickly and quietly under his breath as he braces himself forward on his knees. Placing a palm against the back of his other hand, Keith twined his fingers together before pressing his hands to the center of the surfer’s unmoving chest and pumping them down.

“Did anyone call 911?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained on the man’s mouth as he tried not to think about the way his ocean cooled skin held a different kind of chill to it as he continued compressions.

“Yes, they should be here any minute now,” a disembodied voice answered from behind him. It continues to speak, but its words are lost on Keith as he shifts his position, tilting the man’s head back and gently pulling his jaw open as he pinches his nose. Drawing in a breath, he leans down, pressing his mouth to the surfer’s and blowing the air into him as he keeps an eye on his chest.

Sending a silent thank you to the heavens as he sees it rise with his breath, he repeats the motion before pulling away to start compressions again.

The task of CPR is mind numbing as he repeats the motions, getting lost in the monotony of his mental counting before he feels the heave of the man’s chest push back up against his palm. A shock runs up through Keith’s arms as he jumps slightly at the sound of gasping cough, its rattle turned wet as the surfer jolts to the side and spews water out onto the sand just at his knees.

Relief floods through him with the same crash of the moving tide as he watches the man struggle to sit up, bracing himself upright against his metallic arm as he continues to splutter and cough.

It’s an unpleasant sound and an unpleasant sight, and Keith knows it burns in a way that will make breathing difficult for days to come, but he also knows that it means the man is alive.

He’ll be hurting, but pain is a condition of living that only those who have almost lost it could seem to appreciate.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, rubbing at the surfer’s back in a way that he knows won’t help, and isn’t even sure is welcome, but that he hopes offers some kind of reassurance all the same.

“Just breathe.”

Keith also knows those words won’t help.

He repeats them anyway, timing them with the motions of his palm against the man’s sand covered back.

“Just breathe.”

The stranger’s chest continues to heave and his shoulders continue to shake with the weight of his coughs, each one growing drier and more painful sounding as he rubs carefully at his sternum as if he can soothe the sound with his own fingers.

Hours pass in the form of minutes before Keith hears the sound of authorities telling the crowd to move away and the soft shifting sound of shoes against sand as they drew closer.

It isn’t until the paramedics reach them, that the man finally opens his eyes.

They’re a grey that Keith has only ever seen once before.

It’s the very same grey of the ocean just before a storm, lit by nothing more than a moon peeking through clouds.

It’s the same color of the water that had once tried to keep him all for itself.

“You saved me,” the man says, his voice filling with the grit of salt and awe as he stares openly at him with an emotion he can’t quite place. It would be gratitude if it didn’t shine quite so bright. No, this was something else that almost looked as if it would burn if he got too close.

A flush of heat raced across Keith’s cheeks, rolling up over his ears as he opens and closes his mouth, floundering in search of something to say in the face of that kind of truth.

_You saved me._

_I did_ , he thinks in his own confused and dawning awe as he holds the surfer’s silver gaze.

A strong hand on his shoulder pulling him away saves him the trouble of finding a reply as a paramedic takes his position, quickly checking the man’s vitals as he asks all the usual questions.

_What’s your name?_

_How old are you?_

_What year is it?_

Keith misses every answer as he finds himself face-to-face with another paramedic’s name badge.

 _Kolivan_ , it simply states in black encased white.

“Do you know him?” He asks, voice deep and authoritative as his dark eyes search him for more answers that might help them care for the man. Nearly a foot taller than him, and with shoulders twice his width, the paramedic blocks his view as his team gets the surfer strapped to a stretcher.

“No,” Keith answers truthfully as he looks up at him, shielding his eyes from the bright sun above the EMT with a sandy palm. “I just happened to be out on the water when I saw him go under.”

It’s a simple explanation that earns him a curt nod before Kolivan turns on his heel to head back towards the ambulance parked up at the topmost point of the beach.

“Hey,” the word is a croaked yell, pulling Keith’s attention away from the red and white vehicle and toward the surfer looking up at him from where he laid along the stretcher.

Somehow, the man finds it in himself to smile.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, cocking his head as the EMTs start to roll him away, noting that one has the surfer’s board tucked safely under his arm.

“Thank you,” he says, smile growing wider as they crest over the hill of sand. Those two small words wiggle themselves deep between his ribs, tearing through his organs and burying themselves deep at the base of his spine in a way that left him breathless. Mind going blank, it isn’t until the ambulance is pulling away that he finds his voice enough to breathe a simple “no problem.”

The sound of the man’s revelation clung to him through the rest of the day, whispering  _you saved me_  at the edge of his thoughts as he returned to the water.

It clung to him still when he returned to his old beach shack, calling a quiet “I’m home,” to no one in particular as he popped a frozen dinner into the microwave.

Those words stay with him, playing like a lullaby that leads him gently into the first peaceful sleep he’s known in months, filled with dreams of a quiet ocean, turned silver by a full moon and a stretch of unending stars.

***

“I’m telling you, the guy’s a hero!” Lance’s voice is brighter and much more chipper than it has any right to be as it cuts from the bathroom and out to the hotel room that they’re currently cleaning. When they’d arrived to the quantified disaster zone, their small team had taken up the traditional Rock, Paper Scissors to decide who would get what task.

Lance, who almost always lost, was tasked with fishing out whatever was in the toilet that had it so fully clogged.

It should have been enough to get him to stop talking for at least a few minutes.

It seems that that was not the case, however.

“I hardly think it counts as heroics,” Keith calls back from where he’s wrestling the twisted sheets on the bed. Gritting his teeth, he gives them a particularly harsh pull that frees one of the corners and drops a pair of seemingly forgotten handcuffs onto the carpet.

“I don’t think anyone would just let someone drown,” he continues as he kicks the metal over towards the trash can before tipping it on its side and scooting them in with a toe.

“Debatable,” Pidge replies, looking over her shoulder as she pushes a paper towel across the suspiciously dirty full length mirror. “There are definitely some factors that would stop me from saving someone.”

“See, not everyone would be so quick to risk their own life for a stranger. So which do you prefer, Mr. Hero? Or Hero Kogane?” An interlude of grunts laced with the symphonic squelch of a plunger filled the hotel room, silencing Lance for several moments before he finally made a small sound of victory.

It’s followed by the loud cry of the toilet flushing before he continues.

“I kind of like Hero Kogane myself. Makes you sound like an anime character with really shitty, gravity defying hair.”

Smiling brightly, Lance emerged from the bathroom, his forehead slightly slick with sweat as he holds up a gloved hand. In his fist, is a wad of what looks suspiciously like several used condoms.

“Told you this was going to be the Sexcapade Suite this weekend,” he proclaims proudly as he dunks the dripping ball into the trash can with a  _whoop!_  “Just had that look about them, you know?”

“The look of sexual deviancy?” Pidge asks as she sprays the mirror once more, blotting at a smudge that looks a lot like a pair of boobs.

“The look of love,” Lance replies, drawing out the ‘o’ and folding his hands beside his head as he sighed mockingly.

“The look of horniness, more like,” Keith hisses under his breath as he gives the sheets one final tug, taking several steps back to regain his balance as they pull free from the bed. Quickly balling them up and trying to ignore the dried fluids that rub against his exposed arms, he drops them into the used sheet bin.

“It’s love, Keith,” Lance says as he points at him in feigned admonishment as he drops himself onto the unmade bed. Folding his hands behind his head, he moves his gaze up to the ceiling. “But enough about Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon Phase, did you get the guy’s name?”

He doesn’t miss the way Pidge’s golden stare flicks to him in the reflection before they fall back down to her task.

Already hearing the story over their shared breakfast— bagels at the beach, as was tradition for Monday mornings— she had already heard his lament and regret over not catching the surfer’s name. Not, that it was really something he needed.

Truthfully, he wouldn’t even know what to do with the information if he had. But he still couldn’t help the sting of regret he had felt when the early morning sun had chased away the dream that had been painted the very same color of the surfer’s eyes.

Not, that he could tell Lance that, of course.

“Didn’t need to get his name to save him, Lance,” Keith deadpans as he smacks at the brunette’s leg, hitching his thumb to the side in the universal sign of  _get lost_  when he looks up. Sighing heavily, Lance rolled over the edge of the bed, grabbing for the other edge of the clean sheet.

“Well how else are you supposed to get back in touch with him?” He asks, giving the white linen a pull over one of the bed’s corners, not waiting for Keith to secure his own as he moved over to the next.

“Easy, I don’t.” With a sharp snap, the sheet falls from Lance’s fingers as he tucks his corner under, trying his best to clamp down on his smile as his friend tsks.

“Listen, buddy. Shining knight of the ocean. Didn’t you think about the possibility that this stranger might want to repay his hero?” Grunting his question as they both pulled the fabric over the head of the mattress, Lance peered up at him.

“I don’t need repayment.” And it’s true. When he’d watched the man fall into the water, he hadn’t thought about what would possibly come of it for him. He honestly hadn’t thought about it at all. Which was probably for the best.

Each time Keith had tried to replay the incident in his head after, he’d found himself seizing with frozen dread.

Even that didn’t matter now, though.

The man was alive, and so was Keith.

That much was repayment enough.

“But what if he wants to give it? It’s only right after all,” Lance continues, grabbing the top sheet and unfurling it with a flourish before whipping its end toward him to catch. Tucking its edges under the mattress meticulously, the brunette worked his way along the side of the bed quickly as he spoke.

“Besides, you know as well as I do that you know every surfer on this island. Which means he’s a tourist. Which means he has money.”

A small sound caught between a laugh and a scoff filled the room as Pidge finally stepped away from the mirror to admire its new shine.

“Not everyone who vacations is rich, Lance,” Keith said lowly, looking down at the sheet to ensure it was properly set before reaching for the comforter.

“No, but everyone who vacations here is,” Lance’s tone is matter-of-fact as he moves away just in time for Keith to lay the comforter over their hard work. Now, it hardly looks as if the bed had ever been the scene of a heinous crime of debauchery.

“Well, it doesn’t matter whether he is or not. I didn’t get his name, and he didn’t get mine.” Pulling out a small, white card, Keith signed all three of their names beside the big bold words  **LOVINGLY PREPARED BY**  before dropping it face up on the bedside table. With a quick click, he thrust the pent back in his pocket before fixing Lance with a hard look.

“So shut it.”

“Keith’s never been much of a gold digger anyway,” Pidge offers with a sharp edged smile, her rag making a loud slapping sound as it smacks the back of Lance’s head. “That one we leave to you.”

Unable to swallow his barking laugh, Keith grabs the last of their supplies and tosses them messily on their cart as Lance rubbed at the back of his head.

“You’re both just jealous that the prettiest girl that has ever been on this island is into me,” he says, lips quirked in an obscene pout.

“Into you seems to be an exaggeration don’t you think?” Pidge asks as she steps ahead of Keith and opens the door. “Allura called you cute in the same way a mom’s tell their kids their imaginary friend is cute.”

Lance’s reply follows him into the hallway, punctuated by the loud squeak of their cart’s wheels.

“Which is just the start of our story, Pidge.”

“It’s love,” Keith throws over his shoulder, imitating Lance as he rolled his eyes, his smile growing wide when he hears the brunette’s scoff of offense.

A jolt stops the cart violently, running the vibration of it up his forearms as he turned away quickly from his friends’ bickering, just in time to see that he’d run the cart directly into one of the guests.

A guest with very broad shoulders.

And a bright gleaming arm.

And most importantly, shining, moonlight water eyes.

Confusion ripples across the man’s face as he looks down quickly at the cart at his hip before looking back up at Keith, his lips turning up as recognition somehow makes his gaze brighter.

“You!” His voice still carries the rough of salt as he stares openly at him, like he’s trying to make sense of the fact his savior works at the resort he’s staying at. Burning heat brushes the tips of Keith’s ears as he cocks his head.

“Me?” He replies dumbly, suddenly and painfully aware of the large cart between them and his black polo that proudly sports Altea Resort and Spa in curling script just above his heart.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice is inquisitive behind him, his presence right at his back and as he peered over his shoulder at the stranger.

“Keith,” the man says, rolling it off his tongue as if testing its taste. It hangs there between them for a frozen second as he takes stock of the stranger. Under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, and not half drowned, Keith can’t help the single, fluttering thought that has him forgetting how to breathe.

_He’s beautiful._

“Keith?” It’s Pidge this time as she pushes passed Lance to place a hand at the crook of his elbow, eyeing him before turning her attention to the stranger. Light catches her glasses with the turn of her head before she makes a small, knowing, sound at the back of her throat. With a small bump of her hip, she pushed Keith aside and replaced his hands with her own on the cart.

“We’ll head onto the next room,” is all she says, silencing Lance’s loud protest with a single look before she pushes forward down the hall and by the man with a quick nod of acknowledgement.

Still frozen, it isn’t until the aggravated squeak of the cart’s tires are nothing more than an echo in the hall that the spell seems to break in the form of the stranger’s own nervous chuckle. Shifting on his feet, he runs his metal hand at the back of his neck, his gaze going sheepish and his smile turning timid.

“I was hoping I’d run into you again,” he says lowly, the statement weighed like a confession that draws out the pink in his scar as he blushes. Biting into the meat of his lip, the man corrects himself with a quick, “I mean, I wanted to thank you.”

It’s surreal almost, as Keith looks over the surfer, heart kicking as if he’d seen a ghost and not the person he’d saved a mere 24 hours earlier. Even more so that he seems to think he owes something to him.

“You already did that,” Keith manages after a moment’s hesitance, his voice going breathy before he crosses his arms across his chest if only for something to do with his hands.

“Not just thank you,” the stranger’s words are a rush now as he looks down to collect himself briefly before returning his burnt silver stare to where it is burning a hole into Keith’s chest.

“You saved my life. You deserve more than just a simple thanks.”

Bright heat licks over the bridge of his nose as Keith opens his mouth to say something before finding that there isn’t anything there to say. Somehow, the man had stolen his words yet again with just the grace of his gratitude, and all Keith could think about was how he hadn’t even done it for him.

How could he be deserving of that kind of thanks when really, he had done it for himself and his own fear.

A low hiss pulls him back from his thoughts as the man mistakes his silence for something else altogether. Propping a hand on his hip, and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other, the expanse of his chest grew with his steadying breath before he spoke again.

“Let me start over,” he says as he dropped his hand and looked Keith over fully, offering it to him instead. Its metal catches the light with the same gleam of sunlight on water.

“Hi, I’m Shiro. And I’d really like to buy you dinner. It’s literally the least I can do.”

His hand is inviting and open as Keith drags his gaze back and forth between his shining stare and metallic hand.

He really shouldn’t, he knows. It feels like taking advantage of a man who almost died, and he’s sure that there’s a special place in Hell for those kinds of people. And if there isn’t, Keith is certain there’s got to be some kind of anti-fraternization rule that forbids him from accepting meals from hotel guests, no matter how attractive or who big their eyes have gotten in what is the single, most perfectly rendered puppy dog look he’s ever seen.

Keith knows what he should say.

_Don’t worry about it._

_It was nothing._

_Anyone would have done the same._

All the same lines he’d used on his friends.

Yes, he knows what he should say.

He also knows what he’s going to say.

Reaching forward, and praying there’s nothing on his hands from the last room, he takes Shiro’s hand and offers him a smile.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to fathom his eyes into Polaris and Sirius. “I think I’d like that.”

***

“Keith,” Lance turns his name into a whine, drawing out the ‘e’ sound to a painful length as he leans over the suite’s table to watch as he works on the impressive gum collection the last guest’s children had manager to amass over the weekend.

“No,” is all he says as a large purple glob pops free and lands inelegantly on his sternum. The dull thud doesn’t help his mood as he groans, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and tossing it in the small bag by his head.

“But Keith,” he tries again, hanging lower over the side of the table as if getting closer might help his case. It won’t, but Keith would be a liar if he said he didn’t enjoy the bright red that his face was turning as the blood rushed down into it.

“Nope,” Keith says, popping the ‘p’ as he dodged a falling wad of pink.

“Give it up, Lance. You know he isn’t going to say anything if he’d rather be on gum duty,” Pidge replies from where she sits beside the table, eyes trained on her phone instead of on the tragedy that is Keith’s life.

It had been a nonstop barrage of questions from Lance since he’d finally made his way back to their next room just in time to see his friends arguing over who should have to take the table. Offering to take it should have been his out, giving him some time alone beneath the protection of the table while the others worked. What Keith hadn’t taken into account, was just how much time he’d taken to try and collect himself after the surfer— no, Shiro— had disappeared down the hall with a small wave, Keith’s number in his pocket, and a promise on his lips.

 _I’ll text you the time and place_ , he’d said, effectively turning Keith into a wad of nerves not unlike the gum he was currently prying from the wood above him now. He’d taken just enough time to collect himself after that, but apparently it had been enough time for all the other chores to get completed, which now left him trapped beneath the table with Pidge and Lance flanking his position with an unending stream of inquiry if only because there was nothing else to distract them.

Or rather, to distract Lance.

Which was exactly why Pidge is his favorite.

“I just need to know where he’s taking you, please, throw a poor, single boy a bone,” Lance whines again, jutting his bottom lip out into a pout that would have been comical in normal circumstance, but turned upside down was just absolutely ridiculous.

Stabbing at one of the gum wads, Keith pulls the skewered rubber from the table just to fling it at his forehead.

“I don’t know,” he deadpans as Lance shrieked and pulled upward, disappearing above the table side.

“Fine, keep it to yourself,” his voice is a shade off of hurt as his legs disappear over the table as well. Keith doesn’t even need to look to know he’d be sitting crisscross applesauce above him, exaggerated pout still plastered to his face.

“See if I care when you go missing and the cops ask where your last known location was and I can’t tell them.”

“I thought you said he was probably rich.” Grunting quietly, Keith frees the last piece and drops it into his plastic bag before he pushes himself out from under the table. Quickly tying the bag, he ignores the way his knees pop as he stands fully.

“I’ve seen The Purge. I know the rich can also be murderers,” Lance replies as Keith turns to their cart. With a deft flick of his wrist, he tosses the gum into the large trashcan before offering a hand down to Pidge.

“Is it okay, though?” She asks quietly as she takes his hand, keeping the question between them and ignoring Lance as he pulled her to her feet. It’s a question not just meant for the moment. It’s all encompassing, arcing over his weekend in the same way it has blanketed his life and all her questions since his accident.

 _Are you okay_ , is really what she means.

The problem was that even Keith didn’t know.

Pulling his hand away from her grasp, he offers her a smile. It’s one that he knows doesn’t quite touch his eyes, if only because he sees the shadow that falls across hers.

“Of course,” he says easily with a slight shrug. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Turning away from her burnt honey stare, Keith turns away before she can answer, grabbing their cart and pushing it toward the door. There’s a quiet sound behind him as Lance hops off the table, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know the look that they would be sharing.

_Are you okay?_

God, he wishes he knew.

“Now let’s get going,” Keith says, keeping his eyes trained ahead. “None of us can afford another writeup.”

*************************


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Dialogue is hard :(  
> Also me: Writes a chapter predominantly dialogue
> 
> ~~ps. the only aquaman exempt from mine and keith's aquaman dislike is the jason mamoa aquaman~~

The cool ocean breeze wraps itself around Keith as he keeps his eyes focused on the inky black distance of the ocean. Its captures the darkness of the moonless night sky, stretching it like a shadow down onto the earth. It’s calming, really, as he shifts uneasily, ignoring the sound of chatter and clinking plates behind him.

It’s a nice restaurant.

Too nice.

One that the locals found guilty of one of the highest sins of all.

With it’s well known name that was often plastered across the social media of accounts of the one percent, it was what one would call, a tourist trap.

Boasting subpar food, a stuffy dress code, and prices that would get him groceries for the week, Keith thinks the only reason people are really drawn there is because they’re on vacation and looking to blow their money anyway.

Worse still, with its building set further back towards the tree line, it couldn’t even pride itself in its view, since its view was really only visible from the parking lot.

 _How tragic_ , Keith thinks as he turns to face its modern exterior comprised of mostly glass that was obscured by exotic greenery they’d imported in. As if the island needed help with beautiful vegetation. If the architect had even managed to make it past the tree line that stood behind the building, maybe they would have noticed the stretch of plumeria right in their backyard.

But he was just a silly native working at one of the many money making resorts there.

What did he know?

Swallowing down the bitter taste of his thoughts, Keith looked down at his phone, letting his gaze trace the curves of the numbers that told him he had five minutes left to run.

Which, he knows he should.

Honestly, should have done when he’d received the text that had proudly proclaimed  **Hi, this is Shiro :)** , and consequently released a fluttering horde of butterflies to decimate the inside of his stomach lining.

It was nothing more than a stupid response born of a stranger’s kindness, and yet it has plagued him ever since he sent his own emoji clad reply.

Chewing a hole into the side of his cheek, Keith thrusts his hands further into the pockets of his leather jacket as he stares into the glittering expanse of the restaurant’s front. He tries to ignore the sear of the diners’ passing glances as they look him over, each look another brushstroke that painted him a black sheep standing there in the parking lot clad in leather and slightly frayed denim.

Keith really should leave.

Feign some kind of sickness before turning off his phone until enough days had passed for Shiro to forget all about the surfing local that saved his life and then stood him up.

 _It’s a perfect plan_ , he thinks, as he feels hesitation twinge sharply through his chest while his stare does one more pass over the shining glass.

Dragging the salt tinged air through his teeth, Keith nods to himself in decision as he turns his back to the restaurant.

 _There is really no reason for me to be here anyway_ , he bargains with himself as he steps off the curb of the sidewalk, path set in the direction of his motorcycle on the opposite end of the parking lot.

Keith hadn’t needed any other form of thanks than the one he’d already received when he’d opened his eyes.

Shiro was just being overly nice.

He was just—

Just—

“Keith!” His name is a shot in the dark that finds his back as he stalls, his hand frozen over the helmet hanging from one of his handlebars.

“Hey! Keith!” Shiro says, closer now and louder, as if Keith could have missed his voice the first time. Turning away from his bike, he feels himself falter under the weight of Shiro’s attention as he jogged up towards him from the other side of the lot.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he huffs, sounding slightly winded as he looks over Keith with pinked cheeks and bright eyes. “There wasn’t any parking here, so I had to park a ways down on the street.”

His breathlessness suddenly makes sense as Keith realizes he most have run the entire way.

“You weren’t waiting for long, were you?”

The question is so sincere, it makes Keith shift on his feet, the darkened shadow of guilt filling him and twisting like a sharp knife in his gut.

“No, I wasn’t here long,” he replies lowly, the lie burying deep into the softness of his tone. It earns him a wide smile that seems brighter the lights around them.

“Good,” Shiro says, looking him over. His look is gentle, a few degrees off reverent before he quietly repeating, “that’s good.”

Humming static tickles over Keith’s skin and at the back of his throat as they both pause, waiting for the other to speak. Just the length of a breath, it seems to stretch for a hopeful eternity.

“You doing alright?” Shiro asks then, stepping closer as he shifts his gaze to the motorcycle poised behind him. It leaves about a foot of sizzling space between them, and this close, Keith can smell the ever so subtle touch of cologne that lingers on his skin.

This close, he can see that his button up isn’t white, but the most lightest shade of blue that plays wonderfully against his tanned skin.

This close, Keith can see how the backdrop of the inky night sky turns Shiro’s eyes to a polished silver that even his dreams hadn’t been able to recreate.

“Yeah,” he offers, more reassurances trapped on the very same breath that’s stuck in his throat as he takes a small step back into the metal from of his motorcycle. There’s a thrill running beneath his skin that has left him struggling for air.

It’s the very same thrill that he’s been dreaming of getting back to, only this time its cause is a pair of broad shoulders and a kind smile instead of the wall of a wave.

Tilting his head slightly, Shiro’s brow furrows as his gaze paints Keith’s edges silver before he turns to look over his shoulder. After a calculating moment, a small sigh expands his chest as he turns back towards Keith with a dimmed expression.

Something flicks across Shiro’s face before turning his chiseled looks sheepish, making him look younger almost as he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his khakis.

“Not really your speed, huh?” He asks with a pliant smile that he aims down toward the concrete.

Keith can’t decide whether he’s talking about the restaurant, or himself.

Another wave of quiet rolls between them, tense and daunting as if they’re both holding their breath.

If he’s going to leave, now is the time to do it. He can see in Shiro’s eyes that he’s almost expecting it, steeling himself for the letdown that will absolve them both of his niceties.

Only, Keith finds suddenly that he doesn’t want to. The buzz filling his veins goes to his head, intoxicating almost in the way that it has his heart thumping rhythmically inside his chest, set to the tune of the sweetest freedom that has evaded him for so long.

Looking up at Shiro, he wants nothing more than to chase it.

A small laugh breaks from between his teeth, deflating them both.

“It’s just a bit,” Keith starts, flicking his eyes over Shiro’s shoulder in search for the words to describe the restaurant in a way that won’t offend.

“Too much?” Shiro finishes, cheeks flushing in the dim light of the parking lot at the hidden implication in his question.

“No,” he replies thoughtfully, turning his attention back to him. Keith doesn’t miss the way they’re still pressed in too close. He wonders silently if they look like lovers sharing a conversation before a date.

 _Which, this isn’t_ , he reminds himself tersely.

“Just a bit of a tourist trap, is all,” he finishes.

It’s Shiro’s turn to laugh as he drops his head back with the grandness of it. Full of mirth and relief, it shudders through the air and makes Keith grow warm before it’s fading all too quickly, replaced again by his thoughtful stare.

“Alright, I get that,” Shiro says easily. “How about you show me a good place, then.”

Heat radiates from a deep place in his chest as he appraises the tourist once more, finally nodding when he finds nothing but open kindness trapped within the brightness of his smile.

It comes as a shock when Keith realizes, that at some point, he’s started to smile too.

Reaching for his handlebars, his fingers grasp the matte black plastic of his helmet as he hands it over to Shiro.

“Okay,” Keith says, ignoring his questioning look as he throws a leg over his bike. Tilting his head back quickly, he gestures for Shiro to climb into the space behind him.

“I think I can do that.”

Turning the helmet over in his hands, Shiro pauses as he looks it over, the moment he makes his decision made clear by the determined set of his shoulders. With one fluid motion, he presses the helmet on over his hair and then settles himself in behind him.

Keith bites down on the sudden spark that flares through him, his look settling on the glittering building one final time as his engine kicks to life loudly.

It almost drowns out his voice completely as he turns his head to shout over his shoulder.

“Hang on.”

***

Admittedly, Keith knows what what Shiro sees when they push their way through the waning crowd on the pier and toward their destination.

He’ll see a shack.

And, technically, he wouldn’t be wrong.

It is a shack. A shack that is one of the best kept secrets of the island.

To the untrained eye, it’s nothing more than beach fodder. Too greasy, without proper plates and utensils and with the possibility of food poisoning almost exclusively served through a three by two window.

To everyone in the know, it’s the only place to truly experience food.

“Two signature plates, please,” Keith says to the cook, Sal, who is just as synonymous to this stretch of beach as the magnificent waves it produces.

“Comin’ right up, Keith,” he smiles, flicking his gaze over his shoulder to Shiro before leaning in close.

“Fresh meat?” He asks conspiratorially with a sharp smile and a wink. “Want me to make his the First Timer’s Special?”

Peaking back behind him, Keith catches the Shiro’s wide eyed gaze as it dances between him and the chef. Fear, or something a lot like it, dances across his face.

With a quick shake of his head, he turns back to Sal.

“No, he’s thanking me for saving his life,” he stage whispers back. “I don’t think I want to see him on the brink of death again just yet.”

Sal’s laugh is booming as he pushes away from the counter and slides a ticket across it towards him.

A loud sound of protest comes from behind him as Shiro steps forward to take it, only to be waved off by Sal.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house for my favorite hero,” he says, pushing two beers across the counter to join the numbered ticket. Nodding his thanks, he feels heat tickle his cheeks as he grabs the beers.

“Favorite hero, huh?” Shiro asks as they make their way to a plastic picnic table pushed against the pier railings. Dropping into seats on opposite sides, Keith passes one of the cold bottles to him, ignoring the curious tilt of his brow and the small smile curving his lips.

“Do you bring all the people you save here?”

His answering laugh is dry as he rolls his eyes before hiding behind a careful sip of his beer.

“You caught me,” he says with tepid sarcasm when he resurfaces. “I’m a vigilante of the seas, saving people one poor drowning bystander at a time.”

“A regular Aquaman,” Shiro hums thoughtfully, smile pulling wider before pressing it into the lip of the bottle. It startles a warmer sound from him as he settles his forearms on the tabletop, the bottle braced in the halo of his palms.

“Anyone but Aquaman,” Keith says dramatically, finding himself enjoying the ease of their joking. It was a lot like the same easy companionship he’d found in Pidge and Lance, only with an added burn that licks at his bones.

“He controls the sea, Keith,” Shiro shoots back, wrapping his name in the plush of his voice. The way he says it makes it sound like something secret. An unfamiliar crackle sparks in the middle of his chest as his breath leaves him in the single swoop of his stomach dropping.

“He’s lame,” he manages, praying that Shiro doesn’t hear that way his voice falters breathlessly.

A flash brightens Shiro’s look as he opens his mouth around his next statement, only to find himself cut off by the arrival of their food.

“Order’s up,” Sal says brightly as he drops the paper plates piled high with shrimp, rice, and copious amounts of his secret garlic butter sauce down in front of them.

“Thanks,” Keith smiles up at him, silently thankful for the distractions as he takes the plastic utensils that are all but useless for anything other than just shoveling food into mouths. Handing over a set to Shiro, Keith reaches for the lemon that adorns the side of their food.

“The secret is the lemon,” he says sideways, though it’s hardly a secret at all as he squeezes it over both the shrimp and rice before dropping its carcass on a napkin and mixing it all together.

The visual isn’t the prettiest, but the end result is what he thinks is probably the closest thing to heaven they’ll ever find on Earth.

Taking a bite, he can’t help his own contented sound as he watches Shiro follow suit.

“Good?” Keith asks after a few moments, even though he already knows the answer. Good, is an understatement.

“Phenomenal,” Shiro counters, earning a small sound of approval as he follows his words with another bite.

Slipping into a comfortable easiness as they continue to eat, Keith finds his mind wandering through the silence. He likes it, he thinks.

It isn’t the same silence of loneliness, or for the lack of anything to say. It’s companionable in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever known.

There’s nothing to be said in this silence, as if both he and Shiro just already know.

Smiling around his last bite, Keith gets up, raising a finger at Shiro’s questioning look as he grabs their emptied bottles and heads to get them two more.

“So I know I’ve already said it, but thank you,” he says earnestly, nodding to Keith when he returns. Taking the offered beer, Shiro tips back another sip as he settles back into his seat.

It’s a slow motion, and he can’t help the way his eyes track his throat as he swallows.

“What brings you to the island?” Keith asks, cutting his gaze when Shiro focuses his attention back on him. The sudden change leaves a pause that grows between them. It presses against his skin, smothering with its weight before Shiro breaks it with just a small soft sigh, and gentle shake of his head.

“I have a friend who lives out here who I haven’t seen in a bit” he replies, settling back in his seat. “Life wasn’t too kind to me for a while there and he thought I could use a break.”

Something about the way he says it makes Keith’s chest hollow out. The emptiness spread through him like a cold ache, accompanied by the rush of his own heartbeat.

A question sits at the tip of his tongue, banging at the cage of his teeth.

 _What happened to you_ , he wants to ask as he remembers the scars that decorate Shiro’s skin.

Drawing his gaze across the rise of pink flesh that mars the bridge of his nose, he settles for taking another drink.

“What about you?” Shiro asks before he’s tipped the bottle back down, giving him the length of his swallow to contemplate his answer.

“What about me?” He shoots back, the dull sound of glass against plastic punctuating his question as he drops the bottle onto the table. It wobbles precariously, caught between a landing and a fall for one perilous moment before it tilted back towards upright as Keith settled his forearms against the table.

“What are you doing here?” Shiro elaborates, hot silver pressing into Keith’s skin in a way that burns like a brand.

He isn’t sure if he means here, in the present, or why he was there on the island. The latter, is an easier answer. It’s his home. Keith has been on the main island for more than half of his life.

As for the former, well, Keith wishes he knew.

“It’s nothing as exciting as a beach week,” he laughs, deciding on which silent question to answer as he picks at a scratch on the table’s surface. Etched deep into the plastic, the mark is a deep score, and Keith isn’t entirely sure what could have caused it, but he finds himself thankful for the distraction all the same.

“I work at the resort—”

“No, why are you here?” Shiro emphasizes, cutting him off as he shifts to mirror his pose. “Something tells me it isn’t to clean up after people who trash their hotel rooms.”

Heat burns bright along the apples of Keith’s cheeks as he flicks his gaze down to the table, unable to stop the flutter in his chest as he notes that his hands are folded not too far from his own.

Pulses of something he couldn’t quite place rolled of Shiro’s skin like ebbing waves, and he finds himself thinking about how easy it would be just to move his own hand closer and—

“Surfing,” he says, cutting off his own thoughts with his truth. “The dream was always surfing.”

Keith leaves out the sad sob story about growing up on a smaller island to the north, where he’d learned to surf with his dad.

He also leaves out the part where his dad dies, and his mom moves them to the city to flee a ghost.

What’s more, he leaves out the part where surfing was an escape that allowed him to run away and run towards something all at the same time.

Shiro nods as if he understands anyway.

“Why was?” He asks quietly, carefully pressing more weight into his forearms. The shift moves his hands infinitesimally closer.

Shrugging with feigned nonchalance, Keith taps his cheek just along the raised ridge of his scar.

“Same reason as most dream killers, I’d think,” he says, forcing his gaze to stay focused on Shiro instead of the scratch in the table that stands between them like a guard.

“Fell off my board and smashed my face into a reef,” he continues, taking a shaky breath in the place of the part where he died. “It didn’t do much for my confidence, as you can imagine. Lost my chance at a sponsorship, lost my path, got picked back up again by my friends, and now I’m here.”

Keith shrugs again as he forces his mouth into a smile in a vague attempt to make things light again.

“And sometimes I moonlight as a super hero.”

The joke falls flat between them, a verbal belly flop followed by a slightly pained silence as Shiro looks him over. Really looks at him in a way that he isn’t sure anyone has ever done before. It pins him, and dissects him, as if he’s lifting all the bits and pieces he didn’t say straight from his head.

“I always wanted to fly,” Shiro finally says when Keith thinks maybe he’ll suffocate beneath the heavy look.

“I did fly,” he corrects after a small breath. There’s a shake to it as he lifts his metallic hand, turning it this way and that so that it catches the pier light. Glinting, it tells a story all on it’s own. One that makes Keith’s stomach drop as he pieces it together, his memory tracing the scars on Shiro’s skin like inked words on a page.

“The worst part of the whole thing was I didn’t even get hurt out in the line of duty. I was testing the latest generation of fighter jets.”

His voice is filled with a dark humor as he words fade around a dry chuckle. Tightening his fist, it hangs between them for a moment too long before he sets it back down on the table.

“The last thing I remembered before waking up in a hospital bed was thinking about how great it was to fly.”

A roll of lightning skitters down Keith’s spine at the admission that echoes his own memory. One instant, he’d been free, cresting over a wave and towards the sky with the weightlessness he always longed for.

The next, he’d woken to the loud beeps of his slowly beating heart.

“I’m sorry,” Keith finds himself saying, finally understanding why everyone had felt the need to say the very same thing to him so many times.

But he means it. There’s a sorrow that dims Shiro’s gaze, and it’s painful to see something he knows all too well reflected back at him in the form of a person and not a mirror.

“Don’t be,” Shiro says, shrugging the apology off. “I was sorry enough on my own. And long enough for my friend, Hunk, to finally tell me that I needed to do something with that government hush money.”

It’s another attempt at a joke that lands like a stone.

As it turns out, they’re both terrible comedians.

“The point is, I get it,” he says after another dry laugh. He presses forward as his voice softens.

“But I don’t think you should give up. Not yet.”

“Did you give up?” Keith asks, biting into his lip too late to catch the words before they push through them. The salty tang of blood touches his tongue, mingling with the lingering taste of garlic and lemon as Shiro’s eye crinkle at the edges with his sad smile.

“I did,” he breathes, “which is why I know how much you’ll regret it.”

Quiet falls down around them, heavy and warm. Comfortable, even, as Keith studies the planes of Shiro’s face, mentally filing away the soft look on his face that makes his blood run hot.

It stretches, long, turning brittle until it breaks with Shiro pulling back. Clearing his throat, he drinks down the last of his beer.

“It’s getting late,” he says, voice sounding gruff as he reaches for Keith’s empty and pushes out of his chair. A roll of something a lot like dark regret swoops low in his stomach as he nods, grabbing their plates and following behind.

Quickly dropping their trash into the metal can by Sal’s stand, Keith takes the chance to shoot the cook a small salute before they make their way back to his bike.

The drive back is quiet, filled with nothing but the cooling rush of salt air against their skin. Time seems to move quicker than when they’d left, leaving Keith with the bitter taste of disappointment when he sees Shiro’s SUV sitting lonely on the side of the street.

A coolness spreads across Keith’s back when Shiro pulls away, helmet already in his hands as he pushes off. A stray thought wraps itself through his thoughts, humming a contented sound as he thinks that Shiro’s hair is cute where it’s smushed down by it.

The soft lap of ocean waves in the distances fills the spaces between them as he hands over the black plastic.

“Thanks,” Keith says, doing his best to ignore the jolt that lights up his nerves as their fingers brush during the hand off. It thickens the air around them as he balances his forearm over the top of the helmet in his lap.

“You don’t have anything to thank me for,” Shiro hums, laughing in earnest as he pushes his hands deep into his pockets and shifts closer. “I didn’t even get to actually buy you dinner.”

It’s his turn to laugh as he shakes his head, leaning closer with the help of the helmet propping him up.

“It’s the thought that counts,” he replies, voice dipping low like the tide behind them. Heat quivers around him as he watches the light flicker over Shiro’s eyes with the quick movement of his gaze dragging down to his mouth.

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, his presence looming closer. The hand of anticipation squeezes at Keith’s heart as he find himself pulling forward as if by some magnetic force. Electricity fills his veins with the heavy handed rush of freedom once more as his vision fills with silver, and then—

A horn shrieks through the night, pushing them apart as a car speeds closely by.

Swallowing down the heart in his throat, Keith let’s out a shaking laugh as Shiro ducks his head and smiles.

The movement almost makes him miss the scarlet that bleeds across his cheeks, making his scar stand out even pinker.

“I’ll see you around,” Shiro says, turning towards his car.

It’s a short walk that feels like an eternity as he watches his brake lights flare to life as he unlocks it.

“Yeah,” Keith replies under his breath as Shiro pushes his way into his car.

He knows he doesn’t hear it, but he thinks it needs to be said anyway.

It’s quiet once more as the SUV purrs with its start, a short pause kicking Keith’s heart into hyper drive again before it pulls away from the sidewalk.

The red of his tail lights burn bright spots in his vision as he continues to stare into the darkness of the night long after they’ve disappeared down the street.

They’re lingering ghost is kept company by a strange ache that works itself deep into his chest.

Letting go of a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Keith shoves the helmet onto his head before pealing off into the darkness, tracing the fading line of red all the way until he got home.

**********************


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I suppose I should start with an apology for the wait, huh? Sorry about that. I was suffering from what we in the business call burnout. It hasn’t been fun. But I think I’m getting my sea legs back so maybe I can actually finish off these things I’ve started lol Maybe give some new things a try too. Who knows. I missed my boys though, so it was real nice getting back to them. So, uh, without further ado, welcome to the finale of Blue Crush. It’s only like, 6 months late lmao

**How’s the surfing going?**

**_bout as well as it can go_ **

**Come on, don’t sell yourself short**

**_haha fine its actually going better than it has in awhile. happy?_ **

**Very :)**

**Maybe I can come join you when I’m back.**

“Keith, buddy, light of my life, if you sigh like that one more time I am going to be forced to report you to Allura,” Lance says, voice sugar sweet as it pulls Keith back from the alternating grey and blue on his phone screen.

Rolling his eyes, Keith lets the screen go dark before pressing it into his pocket.

“Light of your life, huh?” He muses, reaching toward the silver juice pouch on the table before him. They’re technically on lunch break, only none of them truly had the drive to eat after a particularly harrowing experience with the last room they’d cleaned. In fact, Keith wasn’t sure he’d ever eat again.

At least, never eat shellfish again.

Luckily, Pidge had snatched them all CapriSuns from a birthday party taking up one of the pools. That would at least keep their blood sugar up.

“Thought  _that_  was Allura,” Pidge chimes in, leaning back until her chair is balanced on two legs. Though she aims her words at Lance, Keith feels her gaze flick to him in silent question.

Keeping his eyes trained on the table, he traces over a faint heart carved in the the plastic as he sips at the sugary drink.

 _Natural fruit juice my ass_ , he thinks as he feels his tongue go numb with the sweetness.

“Well, light of someone’s life, I’m sure,” Lance rectifies with a shrug before remembering he had been trying to make some sort of valid argument.

“That’s not the point,” voice going louder, Lance gestures wildly at his face, “he’s been making these sad eyes like someone told him they didn’t like his dog and then kicked him.”

“Keith or Kosmo?” Pidge asks, pulling his focus away once more as her juice pouch makes an unsettling noise that sounds suspiciously like a death rattle. “Because no one would kick Kosmo.”

Finally looking up, Keith catches the way her brow twitches upward.

 _What’s wrong with you_ , her stare says.

Disguising his answering shrug as a roll of his shoulders, he eases further back into his chair.

 _Nothing_ , he lies.

“Obviously not Kosmo,” Lance scoffs before making low sound of annoyance in his throat. “But that’s not the point!”

Stabbing his finger into the tabletop to emphasize each word, he turns to Keith once more.

“You’re acting like you did that day you ran into Shiro,” he finally says, sending a crash of uneasy quiet down onto the table. Flinching at the name, Keith prays silently that Lance doesn’t see the sudden tension running through him.

So, of course, he does.

“I knew it,” Lance clips, looking to Pidge and sticking his tongue out before leaning his forearms against the table to lean toward Keith. With his attention preoccupied, he misses the sly move Pidge makes to grab his abandoned CapriSun.

He also misses her own retaliatory look as her tongue pokes out between her lips.

Finally looking up at him, Keith fixes his mouth into a well practiced scowl, letting his eyes go steely in challenge as Lance continues to dig his stare into him. Sucking the last dregs of his juice up, he drops the silver husk on the table between them.

“I thought everything was going great, so what gives?” Lance asks after several moments that prove Keith isn’t going to speak first.

He doesn’t mean ill. Keith knows that much. In fact, Lance’s eyes are filled with nothing but concern as he searches his face for any sign of answer.

The thing was, there really wasn’t an answer.

At least, not one that Keith was willing to give, because nothing had really given at all.

Things had been great with Shiro.

While they hadn’t been able to meet up in the weeks since they’d gone to dinner, they’d still kept in touch. Which had been both to Keith’s delight and dismay. Shiro was meant to come and go from his life like a wave, one that would crest in a memorable way before fading into something that Keith would replay in his head each night.

Yet, defying any rhyme or reason, Shiro was still there.

Or as there as his busy schedule had allowed. Even when he happened to find some free time, things never seemed to work out right in a way that would allow him to actually be there.

Rather, Keith never let it work out.

Having discovered his love for surfing, Shiro had been nothing but supportive in cheering Keith on. It had been strange at first. This perfect stranger giving him the very push he seemed to have needed to get back on his board and out into the ocean.

Even without truly knowing him, Shiro still managed to say all the right things, and it had filled Keith with a gnawing sense of  _something_  that he couldn’t quite place. Something like a dangerous mix of excitement and fear.

Excitement because, for the first time, the fear he felt didn’t come from the water before him at all, but from the impending sense of something waiting for him on the horizon.

Something wrapped up in a wide set of shoulders and impossibly soft silver eyes.

Shiro, for some reason, had managed to see something in him that was bigger than himself, and Keith could feel the hooks of it buried deep within his skin, gripping him and pulling at him. Telling him to do better.

Be better.

Get back into the water.

Tame it.

Over and over until his fears had nothing to do with drowning in the ocean’s depth, but rather, with letting Shiro down.

So, Keith did what he did best, and he started to pull away. And Shiro had persisted.

Until, he didn’t.

**Maybe I can come join you when I’m back.**

That was the last text Keith had received from Shiro and consequently left on read from a week ago.

Admittedly, he knew Shiro was most likely just too busy to follow up on the boy who had chosen to not reply first. He still couldn’t shake the aching burn of regret that opened a pit wide in his chest, though.

Keith knows he should tell his friends that much, and that they would then offer him sound advice. Well, Pidge would offer him sound advice and Lance would offer to TP his house.

He should tell them, but then he’d have to tell them that he only had himself to blame for getting to this point in the first place.

“Nothing,” he says instead. “He’s on the mainland this week, so he’s busy.”

The lie seems to soothe them both as Lance pulls back with a sigh, and Keith feels his lungs cool with the breath he finally drags in between his teeth.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so,” Lance says, shaking his head as he reaches for his juice pouch only to frown when his hand closes around air. Snapping his gaze to Pidge, she snorts loudly as she shrugs, taking a sip from the stolen juice.

“Asshole,” he growls as he looks back to Keith. “You know, it’s cute that you miss your boyfriend when he’s away.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Keith growls lowly.

“Sure, sure,” Lance says flippantly, waving his hand as if to brush his denial away. “That’s why you look like someone stole your sunshine. Turn that frown upside down, buddy, tomorrow’s the competition!”

His stomach turns at the statement, making his throat itch with the bile that stings at its base as Keith grits his teeth. The break room suddenly feels stifling as its walls seem to inch closer while Lance continues.

“Are you ready? Keith Kogane, Prince of the Waves, making his grand return to the water.”

Keith’s lungs ache as he struggles to breathe, gaze flashing between the table and the exit.

“Lance,” Pidge warns, eyes flashing gold as she catches the way Keith stares at the door before he pushes out of his chair. The screech of the metal legs against the linoleum is almost deafening as his friends jump at the sound.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice suddenly sounds small and unsure, all bravado gone as Keith grabs for his emptied pouch.

“I don’t feel too good,” he supplies, sounding strangled as he turns away from the table. The room starts to dim in its corners as he pushes his way to the door, throwing his voice over his shoulder. “Tell Allura for me.”

Focusing on his breathing, Keith pulls air into his lungs, all the while tracking numbers back from ten. The door swings wide as he pushes it open, briskly stepping through it and out into the hall.

Just as it swings shut, he hears the soft sound of Lance’s voice.

“Was it something I said?”

***

The quiet sound of water lapping at the sand is a melody that keeps Keith company as he stares out toward the horizon. Pinks and purples had started to bleed into the otherwise blue of the sky as the sun had begun its descent beneath the edge of the world.

Soft wind rustles his salt stiffened hair as he he curls his arms tighter around his shins to pull his legs in closer to his chest.

With one hand gripping his forearm, the other hangs limply holding his phone.

Keith had been at his private stretch of beach for a couple hours now, in search of a place to quiet the tempest of voices in his head.

 _You look just like him out there_ , says his mother’s, soft and full of a longing that Keith carries on his back.

 _Is it okay, though,_  says Pidge’s voice, wrapped in all its double meaning as she sees past his carefully composed walls.

 _Are you ready_ , says Lance’s, filled with nothing but open sincerity as he asks the question that Keith dreads.

 _You can’t do this_ , says his own.

It’s the loudest of them all, drowning out the others as it reminds him of all of his failures and his fears. Growing louder and louder, it had pitched toward a roar that he’d only been able to drown once he’d thrown himself out onto the water.

Then, it wasn’t until he had found himself slicing through a crystalline tunnel that he’d finally heard something clearly.

 _Don’t give up_ , Shiro’s voice had said with a blind sort of admiration. As if he thought Keith couldn’t fail.

Rather, that he knew he wouldn’t.

As he had broken through the the edge of the wave as it had folded in on itself, Keith had seen a bright flash of light as the fading sunlight turned silver through the wall of water, and he finally understood.

There had been many truths that he had convinced himself of, and even run from, but there was one that he couldn’t ignore.

As much as he’d ached to return to the ocean, there was a new kind of burning hole that had begun to expand within his chest that yearned for Shiro’s presence.

Sighing heavily, Keith tears his gaze away from the cresting waves and down to the dark screen of his phone. His reflection is dull, all its color pulled from his face in a way that leaves him almost monochromatic before he presses his thumb to the home button and unlocks it.

An edge of unease and something a lot like excitement sings through his veins as his heart leaps up into the roof of his mouth. Calling Shiro had been as easy as breathing, but that had been before he’d left their conversation hanging on the edge of a cliff.

Now, it felt as if his chest might explode as he scrolled through his short list of contacts, stopping only when he sees his name.

Keith already knows how this will all play out. He’ll extend an invitation to the competition, and Shiro will politely decline. Then, they could put whatever this was to bed so that Keith could move on.

It’s what he wanted, after all.

At least, it’s what he thought he had wanted until he felt the shudder against his ribs at the very thought.

A small voice whispers at his ear that he could just leave things on radio silence. There was no such thing as disappointment for an answer if he never asked the question.

But he doesn’t want that either.

Another shock rocks through his veins, sharp and bright, as his touch hovers over the contact.

 _Regret_ , he thinks as he takes a breath.

Pressing his thumb down onto Shiro’s name, he doesn’t give himself anymore time to think as he pulls the phone up to his ear.

The ring of it is loud, only sounding once before it clicks straight to voicemail.

_Hey, it’s Shiro. Sorry I missed your call, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can._

Keith listens as the recorded voice fades before the following shrillness of the tone signaling him to leave his message.

Swallowing around the lump that’s lodged itself deep in his throat, he watches the soft crest of a dying wave wash white against the sand before speaking.

“Hey Shiro. It’s me,” pausing, he shoves his toes deep into the sand, “Keith.”

 _Because he doesn’t know that much_ , he silently admonishes himself as he bites his lip.

There’s another pause as a trio of seagulls fly by, cawing loudly as they went. For a brief moment, Keith wonders if Shiro would hear it, and imagine him there on the beach with his phone clutched in his hand like it was a lifeline.

“You probably know that. Caller ID and all. Anyway, I know you’re probably busy and I don’t even know if you’re going to be back but tomorrow’s that competition and—”

Curling his toes beneath the sheet of tan sand, he pulls a breath in through his nose and closes his eyes, focusing on the soft sound of the water in front of him. It almost sounds encouraging for once.

“And I’d really like it if you could come out.”

Opening his eyes, he traces the bright orange that interrupts the serene colors of the water color sky. Keith’s chest aches where his heart slams itself over and over into his ribs, as if trying to escape the longing feeling that’s threatening to crush him.

It’s funny, he thinks, that he was so scared of being dragged beneath the waves, he didn’t consider that the water wasn’t the only thing that could suffocate him.

After several seconds of silence, he shakes his head before sighing.

“I hope you’re doing well,” Keith says quietly before pulling the phone away and hanging up. Watching the call screen flick to the keypad, he exhales loudly before holding the power button and swiping it off.

Dropping the now useless phone onto his bag, he reaches for his board before pushing himself up off the sand. Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Keith figures he has a couple waves left until he’s lost all the light.

Taking a breath, he heads toward the beaconing ocean, leaving his tangled thoughts silenced on the beach.

***

The sun is high in the sky, burning hot against Keith’s wetsuit as he trains his eyes on the surfer currently ripping through a wave. Even from this far, he can see the ease that has the surfer’s muscles loose as he heads toward the entrance of the barrel.

Watching isn’t one of his better plans, as it does nothing for his nerves that are already ragged and charred.

Behind him, he can feel the heavy presence of his phone lying in wait atop his bag in the competitor’s tent. He still hasn’t turned it back on, too scared to see if Shiro has replied, and even more scared to see that he hasn’t.

Focusing back on the competition, Keith watches as the current competitor breaks through the tube with his hands above his head in triumph before cutting his board across the water, sending saltwater spraying in a sparkling halo around him.

It’s a beautiful end to a strong run, and Keith feels bile burn at the back of his throat.

Turning away as the crowd roars, he heads back to the competitor’s tent. The other surfers mill about, none sparing him a glance as they lose themselves to their pre-surf rituals. It only further digs the pit deep into his gut as he ducks under the tent, stopping only when he gets to his discarded bag. His phone peaks out from where it’s half buried by the shirt he’d hastily shucked off and tossed into the pile, the bit of darkened screen he could see mocking him.

Keith’s stomach twists when he realizes that the darkness of the glass is a lot like the inky depths of the ocean.

He swears he can hear the water’s taunting crash grow louder and louder in his ear as his stare focuses further still on the blackened screen. Slowly, as if pulled forward by a string, his hand reaches toward it with a slight tremble.

Hope, or something a lot like it, lights the nerves at his fingertips as they graze the the edge of mobile device before a loud cheerful voice shatters the screaming crash in his ears. Jumping back, he’s met by a weighted palm on his shoulder.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Lance snarks as he tightens his grip, giving his shoulder a little shake before there’s the sound of a sharp smack and a soft, indignant, “ow.”

“I mean, looking good, buddy,” he rectifies weakly as he pulls his hand away to rub at his arm. A smaller hand replaces his, squeezing gently in support as Pidge makes a small sound of affirmation.

“You do look like you’re going to throw up though,” she replies wickedly. The statement startles a small laugh from his lips as Lance exclaims loudly.

“Thanks, guys,” Keith says, voice genuine as he turns his back to his phone. Both Lance and Pidge smile up at him, bright and reassuring.

“Anytime you need us,” Lance says, perking up at the thanks as he presses his hands into the pockets of his highlighter blue board shorts.

“When are you up?” Pidge asks, peering over the edges of her green sunglasses that have replaced her usual ones for the day.

Almost as if summoned by her question, the tinny sound of speakers crackle through the air, silencing the voices in the tent as they announce the scores of the surfer Keith had just watches. He tries his best not to listen to the numbers, instead keeping his gaze focused just over Pidge’s shoulder where it can etch burning lines in the sand.

The chattering sound of the competitors picks back up after the announcer’s voice fades, louder with and excitement that tickles the back of Keith’s tongue.

“Soon,” he manages, swallowing the feeling down as he turns away to hide the shadow that darkens his face.

It isn’t fear, at least not in the same way it had been.

Unease, maybe.

Nerves.

It’s a new feeling, one he doesn’t remember from his life before. It rocks through him with a quaking shake, skittering through his veins and pushing his insides with all the same rocking force of a stormy sea.

Keith wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have elected to eat the free breakfast the sponsrs had offered the competitors. Vomit on his board was bound to give him some kind of deduction.

“Well, you’re going to knock ‘em dead, kid,” Pidge says, tapping lightly at his arm with her fist. The small smile she offers him goes murky with the questions she doesn’t ask, and Keith knows he should provide her some sort of small pleasantry to assuage her worry.

Maybe he’d believe the lie himself and his nerves would would settle into something more akin to a gentle ripple.

Opening his mouth to speak, Keith’s words are cut off before they could push through his teeth as Lance’s eyes shift over his shoulder.

“Hey! It’s Hunk!” He says excitedly as he raises a hand in a welcoming wave. The name tugs at Keith’s memory, whispering at his ear in a different voice that makes his heart ache. Turning quickly, he feels his breath catch in his throat when he sees a man walking toward them with an easy smile and even brighter board shorts than Lance.

And beside him, is Shiro.

Light catches at all Shiro’s edges, touching him with gold as his own lips curve upward into a blinding smile as he waves in Keith’s direction. Heat pricks at his cheeks as he shuts his mouth with a click, whatever words he was planning on saying evaporating off his tongue in the face of Shiro’s brightness.

There’s a brief pause that stretches for a small eternity as Pidge eyes Keith carefully before turning her attention back to the newcomers as they reach their small group.

“Hey buddy!” Hunk cheers, taking Lance’s hand in his own before tugging him in close for a bear hug. Close behind him, Shiro keeps his eyes trained on Keith as he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. The motion presses his shoulders up around his ears, turning his look sheepish.

Keith registers the sound of Hunks voice as he continues to speak, but it turns into a dull hum as he finds himself tugged step by painful step toward Shiro until he’s standing right in front of him. The white noise sound of their friends fills the sudden thick quiet between them as Keith locks his stare anywhere but on Shiro and his questioning look.

“Hey,” Keith breathes finally, tearing his gaze away from the sand behind Shiro to look up at him. This close, he can see the pink that has started to spread across the bridge of his nose from the sun.

This close, he can see that his memory hadn’t done him any justice at all.

This close, he can feel the true weight of how much he’d missed him press against his chest.

“Hey,” Shiro returns with an exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath. Sunlight refracts off his newly tuned arm, and for just a brief moment, Keith wonders if it’s that light or Shiro’s smile that leaves white lancing across his his vision.

“So,” Shiro continues, shifting his feet as his smile goes sheepish and the pink on his cheeks darkens. “Are you ready?”

It’s the question of the hour, and Keith wishes he had an answer. He thinks he is, in the same way anyone thinks they’re ready for life, which is to say he isn’t ready at all.

Keith isn’t scared though. It’s a realization that hits him as he traces the strong lines of Shiro’s face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, smiling a little when it makes Shiro laugh. Full of mirth, the sound of it seems to dismantle the tension that has built itself up between them. Air enters his lungs in a rush, almost making him lightheaded as he feels himself breathe for what feels like the first time that day.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to sell yourself short?” Shiro asks, voice a shade of fond that feathers out over him. Heat chases the feeling across Keith’s chest and over his cheeks, blooming pink across his skin.

“As many times as it takes, I guess,” he replies with a shrug, trying to ignore the way everything else seems to have gone quiet around them. His words turn Shiro’s gaze soft as he continues to look at him.

“You’re going to do great, you know,” he offers lowly, keeping the words pressed between them as he reaches forward to drop a palm on his shoulder. Electricity shocks through Keith’s system as Shiro traces the line of his collarbone, his eyes searching Keith’s as if for some sign. Or an answer.

Maybe an apology.

Keith knows he should have one, or anything really. An apology for pulling away.

An apology for selfishly praying that Shiro would show up anyway.

An apology for not having an apology at all.

Maybe, he should just tell him thanks.

He’s still trying to choose when a sharp voice crackles through the loud speaker in the tent, making him pull back from Shiro’s touch.

“Kogane, on deck!” It calls as Keith fixes his gaze on the way Shiro’s hand hangs in the air for just a moment before he clenches it in a fist and drops it.

“Shiro,” Keith starts, the sharp skitter of  _that_  feeling returning to outline his ribs and cause his chest to tighten.

“I’ll see you out there,” Shiro says, cutting him off as his gaze falls over his shoulder just as Hunk appears at his side with a small smile and a nod in Keith’s direction. The sound of waves crash against his senses once more as Shiro turns to leave.

“Have a good surf, buddy,” Hunk says brightly before following Shiro toward the exit. The sharp bite of panic rips into the meat of Keith’s chest as time seems to slow, dragging to a crawl as he watches Shiro’s back.

 _Wait_ , he wants to say, feeling his fingers curl into a fist and his nails press deep into his palm.

 _Wait_ , he thinks loudly, as the panic starts to rattle at his bones and constrict his lungs.

“Wait!” Keith yells as he feels his fingers close around the sun warmed metal of of Shiro’s arm before he can realize he’s even moved.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice is tinged with confusion as he turns over his shoulder, eyes bright and filled with questions he doesn’t get to say as Keith pulls him into him, pressing up on his toes to catch his mouth with his own.

It’s inelegant at first, sloppy even, as their teeth click and Keith swallows the startled sound that makes its way from Shiro’s throat. But it tastes of surprise and it leaves his mouth sugary sweet as Shiro presses in, tugging his wrist from Keith’s grip so he can wrap his arms around his waist to hold him close.

Skimming his fingertips over the line of Shiro’s shoulders, Keith follows the warm track of his skin up toward his nape. His hair is soft where it’s growing there and he can’t help the contented sound that tickles through him as he scrapes his nails through it.

Keith feels the smile it elicits against his before he gasps into the kiss at the soft sting of teeth against his bottom lip.

His own smile grows as he finally pulls away, unable to help the small hum in his throat as he feels Shiro try and follow.

“Hold onto that for me,” Keith says breathlessly as he lets his eyes slide open. Shiro’s a vision as he returns his gaze, lips still slightly parted as he brushes a thumb carefully across his cheek. A flare, bright and burning, dances down Keith’s spine as his touch drags gently over the tip of his scar.

“I’ll make sure to give it back when you’re done,” Shiro breathes around another blinding smile before he finally pulls himself away. Turning to go, he throws one last look toward Keith that brands the space just above his heart before he slips out from under the the tent and into the crush of people along the beach.

Keith watches as he tries to time his unsteady breathing to the erratic thump of his heart. It doesn’t quite work, but he tries.

“Where’s my kiss?” Lance’s voice breaks through his reverie as his friend leans in close and makes smacking noises in his ear.

“Shut up,” Keith laughs, pushing him away as he looks to his friends. They both wear matching grins, painting them with a look that Keith knows all too well. Painfully well.

So well, that he’s happy he’ll be out on the water so he can avoid it all together, though he knows he won’t be safe for long after.

“You better go knock ‘em dead,” Pidge says, and it almost sounds like a threat as she smacks the center of his back before she follows the same path as Hunk and Shiro toward the spectator section.

Nodding in agreement, Lance makes to walk by him, only to lean in close to place a quick peck on his cheek.

“Fuck you!” Keith says without any fire as he dodges him at the last second and catches Lance’s face with his palm. His loud cackle is muffled by his hand as Keith pushes him away.

“Love you, man!” The brunette calls back to him as he jogs after Pidge, melting quickly into the crowd and finally leaving him alone.

 _Are you ready?_  Keith hears Shiro’s voice again as he steels himself, turning toward the holding area for the upcoming surfers.

 _Are you ready?_ The ocean seems to whisper at his ear, its voice carried on the back of the breeze.

 _Are you ready?_  He asks himself.

“Yeah,” Keith answers, ignoring the confused looks of the surfers closest to him as he grabs his board. Its smooth surface almost feels alive in his hands as he tucks it carefully under his arm.

 _This is it_ , he thinks as he turns toward the exit.

Swallowing the last nauseous wave that catches in his throat, Keith pushes out from under the tent, and jogs over to the roped off section of the beach.

“We were beginning to wonder if you’d show up,” the attendant says with a cheerful voice as he gives her his name.

“Sorry,” he offers lowly, only to be waved off.

“Don’t be, first competitions can be pretty nerve-wracking,” she smiles, tossing a blonde pigtail over her shoulder before marking his name off the sheet and ushering him across the ropes.

Keith almost corrects her, but catches himself.

 _She isn’t necessarily wrong_ , he thinks as he steps closer to the wet sand and shields his eyes from the sun. The waves lap toward him, beckoning him forward as the water licks at his ankles.

An airhorn blares, cutting through him as he pushes out into the water. With quick ease, he leans into the water with his board, reveling in the way it drags over his head before he resurfaces. Pulling himself out further and further, he feels the rush of his blood as it thrums quickly through his veins.

A quick rush of wind tousles his hair into his eyes, sweeping sea salt into the onyx waves before he feels the familiar tug in the pit of his stomach as the ocean lulls lazily beneath him.

“This is it,” he whispers under his breath, shaking the hair from his vision as he eyes an oncoming wave. It has a good shape to it as it peaks up toward the sky. The sun catches the surface of the water, turning it to a shimmering translucence that makes Keith’s heart soar.

Cutting his arms through the water, he pulls himself toward it, catching its edge before he jumps onto his feet and leans into it, following the line of the wave as it folds in on itself.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving him alone in the tunnel of turquoise and light and for just that single solitary moment, it feels as if he’s flying. Biting on the edge of his smile, Keith shrinks in on himself, avoiding the collapsing walls of the wave before he breaks through the falling spray at its end.

It isn’t much to score, and this far out, he can’t hear the tinny voice over the speaker, but it’s a first run and all Keith can think about is the rush that’s still tickling the back of his sternum. Fizzling and crackling, it makes him feel buoyant in a way that he’s missed as the airhorn signals another start.

His second run is a bust. One that leaves his eyes stinging and his mouth filled with brine as he resurfaces, but he pulls himself back up onto his board.

 _Breathe_ , he thinks as he closes his eyes, feeling the lull of the ocean beneath him like the steady rise and falls of his chest.

 _Just breathe_ , Keith thinks as the airhorn rips through the air one final time. Opening his eyes, he watches carefully as the water ebbs and flows around him, letting the next wave go by.

 _Are you ready?_ Lance’s voice asks loudly at his ear, mingling with the crashing sound of water as he trains his gaze on a swell in the distance.

 _Are you ready?_ Pidge asks next, her questions bright as the sunlight as it catches the crest of the water as it grows.

 _You’re going to do great_ , Shiro’s voice whispers, caressing the shell of his ear as the wave pitches upward into a beautiful arc.

It’s the perfect wave, pushing up higher than all the ones before it and holding a picturesque curl as it beckons him close. Pulling him in, Keith feels the way his board catches with the current as it turns into the the tunnel of the wave. As it steadies on the quick moving surface of the water, he pushes up onto his feet, and then, he flies.

The rush of cool air catches in his lungs as he reaches a hand out to brush lightly against the wall of water, his smile growing as he chases the light waiting for him at the wave’s end. With one hand caressing the water, Keith reaches out to the blinding light, letting it peak through the spaces of his fingers as he breaks through the swell.

His backdrop is a rush of water as it splashes up and sends his board moving quicker still as he throws his hands up toward the sky. For an impossible moment, it feels as if he’s flying through it.

“Thank you,” he whispers, memorizing the exact shade of blue above him before he allows the water to carry him back toward the sand. The ground seems more solid beneath his feet as he scoops his board underneath his arm, already scanning the crowd as he runs toward it.

In the distance, he can make out the sound of his scores over the speakers, and how the numbers aren’t nearly high enough but his spirit soars anyway when he sees the bright slice of a smile ahead of him.

Dropping his board to the sand, Keith finds himself folded into the open halo of Shiro’s arms. Laughter wraps around him in almost the same way as his hold, and he almost misses that it’s his own as he looks up into the soft silver of Shiro’s gaze.

“Told you you need to stop selling yourself short,” he hums, his eyes crinkling at their edges as he smile grows.

“Shut up,” Keith quips, rolling his eyes before he seals the space between them with a kiss. It’s a chaste thing, tinged with sunshine and happiness, and Keith feels it down to his toes. Behind him, he hears the faux sound of retching and laughter. Ignoring it, he pulls away just enough to grin up at Shiro.

“Do you think I could take you up on that offer to join me sometime?” Keith asks, his breath catching as he sees his lips pull wide around that damned smile.

“I never thought you’d ask,” Shiro says brightly before ducking in close once more.

*********************


End file.
